Meant To Be
by Burnt Hamster
Summary: After being rejected by the adoption agency Sherlock suggests another option.  Slash
1. Chapter 1

"I'm sorry." Sherlock said as he blindly typed and sent a text all while watching John plop into his favorite armchair. At this point it was increasingly warn about the arms and the cushions made a sad creaking noise but the doctor couldn't seem to part with it. He leaned back into the familiar seat slouching down with a sigh. They had just returned from the adoption agency. Rejected because of their lifestyle and Sherlock's and unfortunately John's numerously marked record (not all could be obliterated by a word from Lestrade or even the influence of Mycroft). Which admittedly they did live dangerously but time had mellowed them. Moriarty had been dead for years now. And though Sherlock took cases still, the absence of Moriarty nearly eliminated the instances they had bombs strapped on them, or guns pointed at them. Nearly. Their occupation was no more dangerous than any common enforcer of the law.

"It's not in the slightest way your fault." Sherlock bit his tongue. There was no point in disagreeing. They had the same conversation in the cab. Nearly the same with John half dazed in the lobby. "It just wasn't meant to be."

"Nothing is meant to be." Sherlock couldn't help himself. "It is simply a phrase used to put worth to disappointments or in the rarer instance to happy chances."

"Yeah, is that it? Good. I feel much better now knowing there is no point to my disappointment." John stretched his legs out in front of him, draping his arms over his face. A silence fell between the two before John spoke again. "I like to think we were meant to be." John didn't lift his arms to see Sherlock's reaction, a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Ah well. We're the strangest, happiest, sodding chance I've ever heard of."

"Us? That's a whole different topic all together." Sherlock smirked letting his hand graze John's knee before crouching into his own chair. "We're complimentary parts in a universe unraveling. It's simple science that we would have eventually been drawn to one another. You know to slow the inevitable chaos."

John was openly smirking now. He let one arm flop away from his face to grab Sherlock's where he knew it would be resting on his own chair.

"Maybe bringing someone else into our happy chance wasn't a good idea anyway. I mean we have the stasis of the universe to think of." John tired to joke but his voice fell flat.

"Just in case I wasn't clear. What I mean to say is nothing is meant to happen." He paused until John dropped his arm to look at him. "So there is nothing stopping us from making it happen. There are other ways beside adoption." Sherlock smiled at John's dumbstruck face.

"I don't know why you are looking at me like that. I assure you I am still male and if two males were capable of producing offspring in our fashion we'd have a litter by now. Not that I'm against trying again if you think-"

"John!" John eyes sparkled mischievously. "Don't be daft! I'm serious. We could make one."

"Make one?" John nearly chocked. "Make one what? A baby? Like what, you're gonna try your hand with your test tubes? I hope to God there isn't a how-to guide for that on-line."

"Our sperm is in working order we just lack the necessary parts."

"Sherlock, a uterus does not come with a sex-"

"Let's ask Harry to be a surrogate." Sherlock was smiling pleased with himself feeling this had solved their little problem. In an even more ideal way. His face fell when he found John wasn't smiling with him. "It's perfect. Genetically we'll have a bit of me and a bit of you. It'll be a Watson and a Holmes." John was still blank, Sherlock's brows knitted in confusion. "If you are worried about Harry she has hinted on multiple occasions that she would in her own words 'offer up her uterus for a niece or nephew'." Sherlock wasn't use to not being able to read his companion. It annoyed him. "Well, say something."

"I don't think it's a good idea." John wouldn't make eye contact and he could feel Sherlock's hand tense.

"Why? Is it because of Harry?"

"It's not Harry."

"Then what is it?" There was a long expectant pause before John's responded. His voice almost a whisper.

"Maybe we just weren't suppose to reproduce."

Sherlock was very still, he slipped his hand out from under John's. John didn't know how to respond, he stared instead at the hole in the armchair avoiding Sherlock's piercing gaze. Then suddenly Sherlock shot up causing John's head to jerk up in surprise.

"Sherlock . . ." John grabbed his wrist to stop him, pulling himself up to stand with him. "Please don't go."

It took every bit of his self control not to wrench his arm from John's hold.

"Why not? You've made yourself perfectly clear. I don't see the need to continue to discuss it." Now he did rip his hand from John, who looked up at him confused.

"What?" John mouthed inarticulately, hands hanging limply where Sherlock had pulled away.  
"No, you're right. Why breed more mentally unstable people?" Sherlock had his back to John now, hiding the hurt that John had learned to read in his face. "Mycroft, successful but completely untouchable. He struggles with intimacy like you wouldn't believe and myself? Self-proclaimed sociopath for my entire life before you. Careless, obsessive, unkind. It would be madness to-" He stopped surprised when he felt John's arms suddenly around his chest squeezing him painfully tight.

"Are you crazy?" Were John's first words, possibly inappropriate had he given them thought before voicing them. "It's the Watsons who are screwed up." Sherlock twisted in John's arms until the doctor's chin was on his chest instead of between his shoulder blades. "We're a long line of addictive personalities- alcoholics, gamblers, adrenaline junkies. There is a reason I have no family left. And we're obsessive compulsive. My mom was a hoarder. My Uncle Dave washed his hands exactly 43 times a day." Sherlock looked down at John astonished. "Sherlock, the only thing I'd be worried about with a Holmes spawn is that he's going to surpass my intelligence at age three and want nothing else to do with me." John ducked his head slightly at this confession, burying his head slightly in Sherlock's arm. "I can't expect all the Holmes' to like me. And God, to our kid I'd like to be a little more than intellectually amusing. I don't know if I have what it takes to raise a Holmes." Was the muffled continuation.

Suddenly John was being pushed backward until his back was pressed against the sofa back and by some magical twist from Sherlock his legs were now straddling the detective's hips. Sherlock knew he liked to sit like this. It brought them eye level.

"John."

"Sherlock."

"You're an idiot."

"So I've been told."

"And I only find you slightly amusing." They were both grinning now. John dipped his forehead to rest on Sherlock's. "You can't possibly think that's all I see in you." Sherlock's voice was serious now. He gets quiet when he talks like this. Makes John tingle to think he's the only one who's heard this side of the genius. "We're two sides of the same coin, you and I. I am still learning from you. There are no ends to you, John. Imagine how much better off I would have been if I had known you when I was three." John was studying him now. Sherlock made a point never to lie to the man, at least when it really mattered. "As for the Watson genes. They can't be all that bad. I like you well enough." Sherlock wasn't often this playful. And John indulged in these moments unabashedly. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and kissed him fiercely.

"You're not usually the one defending human potential." John laughed into Sherlock's lips.  
"I may be a bit biased." The detective huffed before deepening the kiss, tongue searching and demanding.

John broke to get a breath. "Well when you put it like that, how can I refuse?"

"Good. I'll tell Harry." Sherlock was suddenly up with his cellphone in his hand, John plopping to the sofa with a surprised grunt.

"Sherlock! You are not going to ask her over a text message!"

Sherlock looked up dully his hands still moving. "John, Harry already knows. She's been nagging me to ask you for a month now."

"What?"

"She says she wants something to spoil." John looked at Sherlock astonished. He wasn't sure if he should be amused or angry. He chose a combination of both. "Mycroft says he does as well."

"Of course Mycroft is in on it."

"He-"

"-knows everything. I know." John sighed exasperated. "What I don't know is why I'm the last to know anything."

"Well John, sometimes you're too sensible. You take a bit of convicting. It's maddening really." John smiled despite himself, he could feel his chest tightening with excitement as he looked up at Sherlock. His attention was drawn to his phone suddenly buzzing at his side, his sister's name flashing across the screen.

"John . . . " Sherlock's voices was soft, his head down, his thumbs still punching in texts. Whether it was to more members of the conspiracy or for a case John couldn't tell. "I think Mycroft and I . . ." John watched him curiously, Sherlock still hadn't looked at him. ". . . we would have been better off if our father was even remotely like you."

John felt warmth spread outward from his spine leaving his fingers tingling and his mind a clouded, wonderful mess. Sherlock looked up at John's intake of breath to find his companion blushing an absurd shade of red. He smirked, putting the phone away and couldn't help but kiss his rose red cheeks until they returned to their sensible color.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock watched Harry as she maneuvered her large belly behind the haphazard chairs in the kitchen, balancing a plate of cheese on her stomach and correcting John over a mouthful. She had John's eyes. Which was good, Sherlock noted, because he very much liked John's eyes. They were a little larger than most and . . . expressive. That was the word. Her face was droopy like his too. A maybe unflattering word for it but droopy nonetheless. He liked that too. The lines framed John's mouth when he smiled. She didn't have John's nose though which was probably for the best. Sherlock thought John was adorable but he wouldn't make a very pretty woman. Harry looked better with her own somewhat daintier feature. She had brown eyes, instead of John's blue which was a shame. And her hair was slightly lighter. Probabilities flashed through his head for different outcomes, dominant and recessive traits, hair color, cheek bones, eyes. He could trace back a man's face four generations but predictions weren't his forte. But he couldn't help but hope he'd see John's face in their offspring.

Harry is suddenly laughing causing Sherlock to lose his focus. Harry's laugh is like a tidal wave. She throws her head back and bellows, her whole body shaking with mirth, clutching her stomach to keep it from jiggling. John on the other hand is more reserved. He chuckles with his head slightly bowed, keeping his eyes on those around him. When John really gives into his laugh his shoulders slide relaxed down his back and the sound escapes in gasped breath, his head up and eyes shining. And on even rarer instances his eyes close. Sherlock feels a slight prick of satisfaction with the realization that he's only seen John laugh that way alone with him. And now he's wondering if laughter is learned or somehow hereditary because he does really love that laugh.

"Johnny, tea!" Harry throws the command over her shoulder, a sibling-like rendition of Sherlock's own demanding. She waddles her way to Sherlock, plopping down on the sofa with a grunt. "God, I miss caffeine." She pops another cheese cube in her mouth. "As soon as these suckers are out I want payment in caffeinated beverages."

"I think Mycroft is arranging to ship you over the entirety of the Boston Tea Party. Post party of course." Sherlock offered the smirking Watson. "He's very fond of you, for some reason."

"We've formed an alliance of sorts." She winked. "Us elders have to stick together." Sherlock liked Harry. She may or may not be insane but that made her all the more tolerable as far as he was concerned.

"Ouch." Harry whined placing a palm to the side of her belly. "It's always this guy!" Without missing a beat she grabbed Sherlock's hand and pressed it against the alarming bulge on the otherwise round stomach. "Do you feel that? Little monster!" She was scowling playfully. And he could feel it, some appendage pushing on the confines of her stomach and into his fingers. And he could sympathize. He was feeling a bit restless too.

Suddenly John was there smiling pleased at the sight of the two of them, three mugs balanced in his hands. He handed one to Harry who took it eagerly and set the other beside Sherlock who still had his hand pressed to his sister's belly, his brows creased in concentration.

"Do you know which one it is?"

Harry smiled at him, knowingly. "No but the kicking is usually from that side so I think it may be the same one."

"Is the other one not moving?" John tried to bite down his concern.

"She is, usually when the other guys knocking around in there." There were two. A boy and a girl. There was no question of waiting to find out, John could read the ultrasound and Sherlock could tell by the doctor's face. And now that she knew Harry had already started attributing personalities to them based on kicks and cravings and neither man argued.

"It's a foot." Sherlock decided and reluctantly dropped his hand away from Harry.

"Good that means he's facing the right way." John supplied. He loved watching Sherlock's curious attention. As soon as the pregnancy took, John began finding internet searches left up on the computer of baby related questions and concerns, pregnancy information, and even (to John's absolute delight) a baby name directory. Where the name 'Sherlock' was typed in the box with the results 'fair haired' in happy blue letters under. Sherlock was attacking the news like an experiment. And good thing Harry had next to no boundaries because Sherlock was often touching her belly, her feet and one horrifying moment before the tests he had pushed her up straight by her shoulders and announced her breasts were definitely bigger. At which point Harry was laughing so hard tears were dripping down her face. Sherlock found this reaction so disconcerting that he announced to John that his sister may be unstable and that he was terribly fond of her.

"Ugh." Harry's knuckles went as white as the coffee mug as her body tensed. "Well that was unpleasant."

"What happened?" Sherlock looked on confused.

"Braxton hicks." The Watson siblings said in unison but Harry didn't smile which was her normal reaction to anything. Instead she plopped her cup into Sherlock's hand and made for the restroom.

"Again?" John smirked and Harry shook a fist at him not bothering to turn around in her rush to the toilet.

"Let me sit on your bladder, John Watson and see how you do!" She threatened before shutting the door behind her.

John scooted closer to Sherlock, resting his hand on the detective's leg. "I think-" He didn't get to finish his statement however their attention turned to a sudden clatter in the restroom.

"JOHN!" Instantly John was on his feet and at the door to the toilet. Harry was sitting on the seat her face pale and her hands clinging to her skirt. "I'm bleeding."


	3. Chapter 3

"SHERLOCK!" The detective was already out the door hailing a cab so John carefully collected his stricken sister. "It's ok, Sherlock knows the fastest routs, he'll get us there in no time." He patted her hair and wiped her face as he led her to the front door. He continued to reassure her, speaking medical gibberish in a low voice. Knowing she didn't understand but would be comforted in thinking that he did. All this while forcing down his own panic, calculating the months needed for all organs to fully form and possible complications for his sister. He looked down to see Harry was nodding along with him, slowly getting control over herself as they made their way down the stairs. "There he is." Sherlock was holding the door open while growling something at the driver. They helped her into the taxi and made it to the hospital in record time. Not without threats from Sherlock if the man didn't take the turn when he was told and John may have helped with an extra foot on the accelerator.

At the information desk things slowed as they tend to in hospitals. Harry was ushered into a room and hooked up to various machines. Her vitals were taken, forms were filled before the doctor even introduced himself. Harry's doctor was apparently with another patient. John had never heard of this other man and yelled down the nurse with all the intimidation of his army training and that of a protective brother. She only shrugged and stated "It's a full moon sir."

Suddenly Sherlock was at his side. A warm hand on his back as he whispered the complete history of their doctor based on the stain on the sleeve of his shirt. In Sherlock's own way telling him the man was qualified. John nodded his consent with a stray thought that he trusted Sherlock's word more than God's and that that knowledge didn't bother him in the least.

Harry was induced. The panic already making her tired she bit down on her weariness and pushed on. John had never been in more awe of her. His older sister who had fought off their father when he targeted John, who had come out to the same man with all the daring of a fearless fox, who fought his same disease and rose above it, who had enough hardship without taking on her brother's, here she was after offering to birth his children, pushing through more pain than she's ever experienced. John felt his chest ache with gratitude and happily took the bruising that Harry was leaving on his hand. Sherlock on the other hand was watching her doctor. John could see his mind working as his eyes darted over the tools and at Harry. There was also a hint of protectiveness, unnoticed by anyone else but John could see it clear as day in the tightening of Sherlock's lips.

"Sherlock," Harry's face was red and her glare was murderous. "if you don't get your head out of there, I swear to you I will make John a single parent." Sherlock's head popped up from his observing and his nose wrinkled at the threat. John couldn't help a soft chuckle though it came out pained and panicky.

The first baby came with no troubles. All dark hair and long limbs. She needed her lungs cleared a bit before she cried. And her cry was surprisingly soft, as if she would rather not but she would do it for their benefit. They breathed a sigh of relief as she was passed off to be weighed and measure and cleaned. Sherlock's eyes followed her and John's heart warmed at the sight. Harry whimpered at the encouragement to keep pushing but complied. And suddenly Sherlock's eyes sought John's, his brow was creased in concern and John could see he meant to draw his attention to the doctor who looked ill at ease. And sure enough when the second baby came he was limp. He wasn't breathing. There was a hush as the nurses worked on him, carrying him to the next room. A chaos of movement with no sound as everyone seemed to hold their breath along with him.

John's eyes found Sherlock's with an unspoken agreement. Sherlock would follow the baby, John would stay with Harry. As he watched his companion dart to the adjacent room his mind raced with possibilities. He wondered how long the baby could go without air. He's sure the answer had come right away to Sherlock. He wondered how long he had been in the womb without air. Had he been the one who wasn't moving as much. The monitors would have surely picked it up if heart wasn't beating - There was a sniffing sound by his shoulder, he looked down to see Harry, her wide eyes standing out on her pale face and tears streaming unchecked down her red cheeks.

"I'm sorry."

"Harry!" John swooped down until his face was level with hers. "Don't be ridiculous! There is absolutely nothing to be sorry about. God, you're my hero!"

She didn't look at him, her eyes focused on where Sherlock had exited. "You already have your knight in glittering . . . overcoat." She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. "You don't need me to be the hero anymore." She offered, their voices the only thing keeping a breakdown at bay.

"What him?" John gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, effectively taking salt tears with him. "I just keep him around 'cause he's cute."

She smirked but nodded sagely. "It's those cheekbones." Her grip tightened on his hand and they both grew quiet, watching the door. It seemed an agonizingly long time before Sherlock returned. He jogged into the room, his smile already easing John's heart but he needed to hear him say it. Because if anyone could set his world right again in a moment it was Sherlock Holmes. He could have two heroes, he decided.

"He's breathing. He's fine. They're both fine."

And they all took a collective breath.


	4. Chapter 4

John watched Sherlock who had their boy cradled in his arms. John was holding their girl. And Harry was dead to the world passed out on the hospital bed. The detective's eyes were running over every feature on the small face. Probably tracing the genes to each side, calculating proportions of each limb, predicting what their children would look like in eighteen years. John brought his attention back to their girl. She was sleeping peacefully. He had never seen a more contented baby. Her dark hair stood out in messy tuffs. John smoothed it down with a thumb. She looked like Sherlock. Everything about her was long from her legs to her fingers to her eyelashes. Her hair was as dark as his too though that could fade he knew. Harry was born with hair this dark and now she was blonder than he was. A small intake of breath brought his attention back on his companion. Sherlock had the goofiest smile John had ever seen on him. Sherlock could feel his eyes but didn't look up from the slumbering boy. John found a similar smile stretching across his own face.

"What is it?"

Sherlock's long finger came to rest gently on the tiny nose. "Your nose."

John grimaced. "My father's nose."

"_His_ father's nose." Sherlock corrected with a quick, sweet kiss on said nose before turning back to hover above the baby leaving John staring wide eyed.

"I don't believe it."

Sherlock didn't look up from the round cheeks he was petting. "What?"

"You." John's eyes were still wide in astonishment.

"What about me don't you believe?"

"You are positively smitten!"

"Don't be absurd." But Sherlock's smile never faltered nor did he look up from the baby. John's didn't either as he watched those miniature Holmes fingers wrap around his own.

Fatherhood was doing strange things to them. 

Harry had her knees up and the baby girl propped up facing her. Sherlock and John were off filling out paperwork. Birth certificates and baby names. The boy was still sleeping. He had screamed up a storm once they got him breathing again and had quickly exhausted himself. The girl however hadn't made a peep since the required cry and now sat with her eyes closed on Harry's legs. John was right. She did look like Sherlock. Her hair was as straight as could be though. Baby hair was strange though, it could change but she doubted it. Harry had a good hunch about these things. She took the little hands in hers while petting the tuffs of hair down. Her hair was rather like John's actually.

"When you get a tiny bit bigger we are going to go shopping." Harry found herself saying suddenly. Bouncing the little hands wrapped around her fingers. "Not that I buy into sexist stereotyping but I don't trust your daddies know what they're doing." Harry had been afraid, though she never voiced it, that some magical attachment would surface at birth and she would be heartbroken to be called aunty instead of mommy. But that wasn't the case. Not in the least. She found she instantly took to being Aunty. "Daddy will have you in matching jumpers. And have you seen his jumpers? Not yet I suspect. Well we can't have you crawling around looking like the hamburglar, now can we? And your papa? Well he looks good but," Harry leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "I have a feeling Uncle Mycroft might be dressing him." The baby cooed at the attention, her lashes fluttering open to reveal large, blue Watson eyes that seemed to focus right on Harry, Harry's smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. "That's right. Uncle Mycroft. He's pretty dapper. He can go shopping with us too."

The boy was fussing. He mostly protested his frustration physically, throwing his arms about with a combination of baby grunts and whines. Sherlock was holding him, a pout on his face, as the boy squirmed in his arms. Harry reached out her hands for him.

"Ok let me have a go! Come to your aunty Harry, Mister grumpers!" Sherlock passed the baby over to Harry with a raised eyebrow and John placed the girl into Sherlock's arms. He loved to see the man dote on them and couldn't deny him when he found his arms empty. She opened her eyes to the detective and grabbed at the fabric of his shirt. Sherlock rocked the girl as he smirked at Harry, who was having less luck with the boy then Sherlock. Harry wasn't the least bit phased. "Look at you! He looks just like John doesn't he? Especially when you are making that face! Yup!" The baby responded with a grunted cry as he squirmed with a vengeance throwing his arms up over his head.

"He's proportionally more his height." Sherlock added from under his bowed head over their girl. And it was true. The boy had come out shorter than the girl. John didn't bother to pipe up with, 'babies change'. It didn't seem to hold much ground in this audience.

"I'd say he inherited your temperament though, Sherlock." All eyes turned to Mycroft walking through the hospital door. As immaculately dressed as ever but lacking his umbrella, leaving his hands free. He strode into the room with his arms out. "Let me see Cynric then"

"How did you . . .?" John puttered, Sherlock didn't look surprised and Harry busied herself with passing the squirming infant to the older Holmes.

"Harry texted me of course." John glared halfheartedly at his smirking sibling. The shift in handlers brought Cynric's cries back to grumbles as he opened his eyes curiously at the newcomer. And Mycroft found miniature Sherlock eyes glaring at him. "Ah, there you are Sherlock." He said to the squirming Cynric. "He has your eyes. They say eyes are the windows to the soul." Mycroft said humorously.

"Rubbish." Was Sherlock's input. "And how do you plan to calm him brother where the rest of us have failed?"

"Simple." Mycroft bounced the baby slightly in his arms as he made his way further into the room. "When failing to appease an unruly Sherlock Holmes . . ." Mycroft made a show of placing the baby in John's arms. John automatically adjusted, leaning Cynric on his chest and stroking his back soothingly. The boy automatically quieted. His eyes drifting closed. "You hand him over to a John Watson."

Sherlock grumbled but couldn't hold back his smile at the sight of a wide eyed John and their slumbering baby. Harry was nearly rolling in a fit of giggles and Mycroft was just smiling pleased.

"Now pass Margo over here would you!" Mycroft arms reached out for the second time to take in an infant. Sherlock passed the content baby over to his brother. Margo was in a much better mood for introductions it seemed. Her thoughtful eyes were open wide to her uncle. Yes those were most definitely Watson eyes, though they shone with Holmes curiosity. Mycroft bent his face close to hers so she could see better. Her hand came up in a jerk and landed on his nose. "Ah yes. It seems you have inherited John's temperament." Mycroft looked up at the smiling Harry. "You'll forgive me dear if I say John's and not yours, I think you may have had more of a hand in Cynric's . . . conviction."

"Well, I'm flattered!" Harry smile grew as she continued to chuckle. "I actually thought Margo was a lot like you. She's very . . . stoic." Harry laughed harder, it was her loud free laugh and Mycroft's soft chuckles joined her. Margo's brows creased at the jostling of Mycroft's laughter and let out a small whimper. Without missing a beat, and still grinning, Mycroft pressed the baby back into Sherlock's arms. Where she settled immediately and yawned.

"Well, look at you four," Sherlock and John looked up from their contented children at their laughing siblings. "You are downright adorable." Mycroft chuckled even louder, leaning back. "So Mycroft,"

"Yes Harriet?" The laughing politician turned his attention on the female Watson.

"I believe I was promised a boat load of caffeine?"


	5. Authors note more?

This is an apology.  
For a terrible wait for a conclusion!

I am so very sorry. And I hope that you enjoy this bit of family loving.

And because I adore you all and you have been so wonderful I have some stories of the children growing up that I will post soon!

Any suggestions of whether I should post them under one post or separately?

You all are fabulous! Thanks again to those who reviewed! Thanks for all your input Volitan!


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